Tonight, I’m making chicken quesadillas for dinner. I went to the pantry to grab a jar of salsa.

One jar left.

I’m about to open the last jar of the last batch of salsa I made with my mom.

That hit probably a little harder than anyone NOT grieving would understand.

When I asked the husband to open it, I cried.

Then I obviously had to explain why I was crying over salsa.

He didn’t even want to open it.

I told him it wouldn’t last forever.

Now I’m sitting on my back porch with my last beer in the fridge, thinking about LASTS.

My last picture with Diane was a couple of months before she passed. We both happened to be home at the same time.

My last memory with Dad was a month before he passed. I had visited, and somehow I knew that hug would be the last.

I whispered in his ear, “Daddy, I still need you. Take care of yourself.”

To which he replied, “Rat, I ain’t goin nowhere.”

My Momma…

I have a picture of the last meal I made for her. It was literally the last meal she had before going into the hospital.

I’m glad it was her favorite.

The funny thing about lasts is, we just never know when it will be.

Most of the time, I’m thankful for the lasts.

Sometimes, I wonder what I would have done differently if I had known.

Would I have held the hug a little longer?

Would I have taken one more picture?

Would I have stayed a little longer?

Would I have paid more attention to the ordinary moments that I didn’t realize would become memories?

I don’t know.

And honestly, I don’t think any of us can know.

Because that’s the thing about a last.

It doesn’t announce itself.

It doesn’t tell you, “This is it.”

Sometimes it’s a hug.

Sometimes it’s a picture.

Sometimes it’s a meal.

Sometimes, apparently, it’s a jar of salsa sitting in the pantry.

And maybe that’s why I’m thankful for them.

Because even though I didn’t know they were lasts when they happened, I get to carry them with me now.

The last picture.

The last hug.

The last meal.

The last batch of salsa.

They aren’t just endings.

They’re pieces of the people I loved that I get to keep.

“To live in hearts is not to die.”

— Thomas Campbell